Let Me Help You
by AustenRSummers
Summary: When Sherlock's antics put Greg over the edge, he goes to the elder Holmes for some much needed stress relief. Mycroft is all too willing to comply.


Mycroft's unfocused gaze shifted to the ever growing stack of paperwork situated on his desk. A hand rose to his tired face, rubbing his temples wearily as to ward off a headache. There was much to do, certainly little time to finish it. A quick glance at the clock on the mantle suggested he had been sitting there for little over six hours. He let out a sigh and moved to call Anthea in just as a knock and opening of the door caused the Holmes to glance up sharply.  
"A visitor to see you," Anthea reported, eyes darting up only once from her Blackberry.  
Mycroft's brow burrowed and he told her, "Please, Anthea, not now. I'm rather bus-" The man was cut short when a very familiar form stepped into the doorway and cast Mycroft a rather sheepish look. "Ah, Detective Inspector, do come in," he quickly reformulated his words and his PA managed a small smirk before slipping out of the office and leaving the two men alone. Mycroft shuffled some papers on the desk before folding his hands neatly on the wood and meeting Greg's dark chocolate eyes. He inquired lightly, "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Gregory?"  
Lestrade cleared his throat, stepping further into the office and hesitating before moving to sink into the vacant seat across Mycroft's desk. He cleared his throat and answered, "Your brother, actually."  
"Ah, yes," Mycroft mused knowingly. His ever deducing gaze flitted over Gregory's tired features. The creases in his forehead suggested extreme stress, the poor posture and dark circles under his eyes little sleep, and the stains of a spilled coffee that morning still visible on his shirt despite the obvious attempts to blot them away. Mycroft quirked an eyebrow and noted, "Rough morning."  
Greg swallowed thickly then nodded.  
"The double homicide?" Mycroft inquired.  
Another nod.  
"And Sherlock is...?"  
"Drawing no conclusions," Greg reported. "And his frustration is wearing on all of us."  
"I wouldn't be surprised," Mycroft sighed, sitting back in his chair. "The murder was quite alarming in and of itself. Carefully thought out. Perfectly executed. Drownings can be messy work, but this one wasn't." Mycroft steepled his fingers under his chin and murmured thoughtfully-more to himself than Greg-, "It's a wonder he hasn't come to see me yet."  
"Who? Sherlock?" Greg snorted. "Oh, he's far too proud for that.  
Mycroft cast him a look from across the desk and noted, "Even Sherlock has his moments."

-

A week had come and gone and there was no further advances in the double homicide case which had London buzzing. Sherlock's frustration was evident, his behavior irrational, even violent at times, lashing out at anyone or anything that irritated him even the slightest bit-which meant everything, naturally. John was on damage control, but even he was having a difficult time keeping Sherlock's behavior in check. The officers of New Scotland Yard were receiving the brunt of Sherlock's attitude. Anderson, primarily, leading to Lestrade quietly forcing the man off of crime scenes and out of meetings for his own safety. Sherlock had spent most of his time with Lestrade ranting and raving and thinking up impossible solutions to solve their case, the agitation increasing until John would politely excuse them and take Sherlock out for a moment. On more than one occasion Greg had overheard a snappy Sherlock retorting, "Bloody idiots! Bloody idiots, all of them, that bloody Gavin-"  
"Greg," John would correct curtly, and Sherlock would continue to spew insults on the DI's performance in his own position.  
After multiple days of streams of never ending insults and a frantic, frustrated Sherlock Holmes pacing in his office, Greg couldn't stand it a minute longer. He rose from his chair in the middle of one of Sherlock's not-so-polite rants and stalked to the office door. He shrugged on his coat and noted thickly, "I'm stepping out a moment."  
John had cast him an extremely apologetic look while Sherlock snapped something about avoiding the situation and running from trouble, which John was quick to leap in and chastise his flatmate for his insensitivity and rude behavior. Greg didn't bother trying to eavesdrop on the two. He was out the front door and hailing a cab before either of them even knew he was gone. He also didn't bother to send Mycroft warning of this sudden visit. Not that he often did, but today he was pent up and itching for it, and his condition would no doubt alarm the other man. Even Anthea barely attempted to stop Greg from entering Mycroft's office. The DI simply burst into the room; Mycroft glanced up, cutting off mid sentence and quickly apologizing to whoever was on the other end of the phone. He hung up promptly and frowned at Greg.  
"Gregory-"  
"Don't speak." Greg paced to Mycroft's desk and grabbed the man's tie, yanking him into a deep kiss. As expected, Mycroft was a bit alarmed but not entirely thrown off guard. As Greg pulled away he licked his lips and looked up at the DI.  
"Sherlock?" he ventured.  
"Don't get me started on that bloody brother of yours," Greg practically growled.  
Mycroft arched an eyebrow but didn't press the topic further. He simply rose from his desk and crossed the room, checking that the door was locked and that they were quite safely alone before moving back to sit at his desk once more. His eyes glanced over Greg. After a moment of careful observation he inquired lightly, "And what do you want me to do about it, Gregory?"  
Greg, still standing with his palms splayed flat on Mycroft's desk, gaped at him a moment. Then he swallowed thickly and that angry look in his eyes turned to one of pure desperation.  
"Help me," he said simply.  
That plea was one of a child, Mycroft noted mentally, his fastidious stare softening to one of pure sympathy. "And how do you wish me to do that?" he asked softly.  
Greg returned the gaze with a sort of determined yet soft insistence. He replied with a simple statement. "Fuck me."  
Mycroft's lips twitched into a small smile and he replied with a even purr, "I thought you'd never ask."  
Mycroft pushed back from his desk and gestured for Gregory to come around to join him. Greg moved quickly, stopping to stand in front of the elder Holmes. Mycroft ordered, "Undress for me, Gregory. Nice and slow. Breathe," he added, needing Gregory to calm some of the turbulent emotion he was currently experiencing. He watched as Greg did as told. He undressed slowly, chest rising and falling in deep calming breaths. The discarded articles lay crumpled on the office floor leaving Gregory quite bare, his erection already obvious, tip slick with precome.  
Mycroft's own cock twitched at the sight; he had the sudden urge to bend Greg over the desk and fuck him senseless, but Mycroft beat it into submission. It was perhaps what Greg wanted, but Mycroft had a different approach. He stood from his chair and covered the space between them in a few short strides. Gregory remained still until he felt Mycroft's hand move to cup his cheek. An involuntary shiver traveled up the DI's spine and he moved a hand to rest placidly on the back of Mycroft's neck, anchoring him to the kiss.  
They stayed that way a moment or two longer, simply gratifying each other in agonizingly slow passionate kisses until Gregory leaned his head back and panted, "Christ, Mycroft..."  
The elder Holmes took the opportunity to dip his head to Greg's neck and nibble at the skin there. They were only teasing bites, not hard enough to leave marks. Lord knows they needed anyone questioning those, God forbid Sherlock Holmes. Their relationship wasn't necessarily a secret-Sherlock had deduced their arrangement long ago-but it didn't mean they didn't attempt to be discreet. Mycroft's hand settled at the curve of his hip, and Gregory let out a soft sigh at the contact.  
"Please..." the DI murmured. The hand on his neck tightened ever so slightly, his other hand furling into the fabric of his coat. Mycroft hushed him with a few more light kisses and utterances of 'Breathe, Gregory'. The DI continued to sink into a deeper and deeper state of relaxation, the anger, frustration, and stress of the day melting away at the other's soft strokes and caresses and fleeting little kisses.  
Only a minute later did Mycroft finally pull away and gesture to his desk. Greg understood the silent order perfectly, and he looked all too eager as he positioned himself against the desk, legs spread, hipbones jutting against the mahogany, head pillowed in his arms. Greg created such a lovely picture that Mycroft couldn't help but take a mental snapshot of the prone man's position. He stepped forward, a hand running along the smooth skin of Greg's presented arse. He reached for a desk drawer, slipping it open and feeling for the bottle inside. He kept lube in the office for occasions such as these. They both knew Greg's ideal form of stress relief.  
He snapped open the cap and poured a generous amount of lube on his fingers, warming it at his touch for Greg's comfort. Greg waited anxiously as he felt Mycroft's fingers ghost over his skin, a slick fingers prodding lightly at the puckered ring of muscle before slowly sinking in. Greg let out a rather wanton moan and Mycroft smiled, kissing his back in response. He worked his finger inside Greg, almost teasing before crooking his finger just so to reach the bundle of nerves he knew would make Gregory beg. Just as expected, Greg let out a muffled cry and pushed back on his finger. He had involuntarily tensed up and Mycroft relaxed him with reassuring fingertips, eliciting a soft moan and desperate plea of, "MYcroft... _please_."  
Well, wasn't that just delightful, Mycroft thought with a grin, bending against the DI to press a soft kiss to the older man's neck. He murmured, "Please what, Gregory. What do you want?" A second finger joined the first. Greg moaned and writhed a bit beneath him. Mycroft's fingers worked skillfully inside him, slipping a third inside before Greg couldn't stand it a moment longer. He shifted on the desk, turning his head in his arms to catch Mycroft's gaze. "I want you inside me, Mycroft. Fuck me. _Please_."  
Mycroft didn't need to be asked twice. He withdrew his fingers and pressed another kiss to Greg's neck before his touch disappeared entirely. Greg could only hear the rustle of fabric and soft reassurances before strong hands settled on his hips and Greg felt the familiar thick warmth press against his aching entrance. He moaned and waited with bated breath as Mycroft pushed in slowly, inch by inch, until Gregory felt deliciously full and Mycroft was up to the hilt. He didn't move for a long moment, both parties enjoying the sensation before Greg's hoarse voice broke the silence. "Move. Please."  
"So polite, dear Gregory," Mycroft murmured with a grin. He did as asked, his thrusts gentle and slow at first, but slowly crescendoing to a fast, heavy rhythm.  
Greg's hips slammed against the desk at every thrust, toes curling into the rug, cries muffled against his arms as he silently begged Mycroft for more. Those slender fingers had wrapped around his aching cock at some point, but Greg could hardly remember it, mind blank in the bliss of his current pleasure. It seemed an eternity of desire and want and pleasure before Greg finally came, coaxed to climax by Mycroft's dexterous fingers. He cried MYcroft's name, just barely stifling it in his arms, and not moments later MYcroft followed suit, spending deep within the DI.  
The couple remained there a moment, Mycroft draped over Lestrade who was effectively pinned to the desk, both men panting heavily. Gregory turned his head to catch the Holmes in a deep kiss. Mycroft chuckled, pushing himself off Gregory and straightening himself out once more, ever the picture of regal properness. He looked down at the DI and noted, "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"  
Greg pushed himself up and nodded silently, his eyes gleaming with newfound adoration. Mycroft smiled and caressed his cheek with his thumb. "Better?" he inquired softly.  
Greg nodded. "Much," he agreed.


End file.
